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FeedA star is throwing: Strasburg in Buffalo
About 7 a.m. last Thursday, my cell rang. Along with the shrill, face-slapping epiphany that I need to change my annoying-as-hell ringtone, there was an offer from my old editor to catch the Buffalo Bisons game, featuring none other than pitching penom Steven Strasburg throwing for the visiting Syracuse Sky Chiefs.
"Thanks but no thanks," I replied, still apparently ninety percent asleep and only ten percent coffeed-up. Perhaps my hesitation sprang from residual disappointment of hustling to the ballpark in Binghamton in 1997 only to see Hideki Irabu—who arrived back then accompanied with all the hype Strasburg's getting now--get shelled by Double-AA benchwarmers.
But about a minute passed before I gathered my wits and called back, saying "Of course I'll go!" Maybe it's because I was up to about twenty or twenty-five percent caffeinated and realized my previous error and suddenly willing to let the infamous Irabu Incident slide.
Given this rare opportunity, how could I not go? I was out of excuses, if I ever had them in the first place. So off I went later that afternoon to get my free ticket—which is wonderful because I'm unemployed and, well, cheap in the first place.
I won't bore you with all the oohs and aahs that actual professional, respected sportswriters have thrown at you over the past several days. I was in section 216 along the first base side, giving me a better view of approaching weather fronts over Erie, Pa. than of Strasburg's deliveries. So blathering on about the crazy noon-to-6 p.m. movement on Strasburg's curveball and his dominating heater would be an insult to my readers.
Reading this blog already suffieciently fulfills any humanely monitored insolence quotient, so I won't pile on.
But I can attest that the kid's fastball threatened to tear through Mach-3, and the centerfield radar gun was consistently flashing 95 to 99 mph. And that, well ... that's fast. So it's clear that the kid's for real, and I can now gloat about having "been there" for his last minor league start. All indications are that he could be the next Dwight Gooden circa 1984–85, rather than the next post-1986 Gooden, so it was a privilege to attend. And drink a few beers. And chew my way through horribly stale and overpriced nachos.
Watching this great young talent make tomorrow's Big League hitters look silly was worth the time, trouble, and taking out a second mortgage to pay for parking.
But far more satisfying was seeing some hustle and bustle in downtown Buffalo, something that's too rare nowadays. I've been spending plenty of time down there lately, and it's depressing to see the empty storefronts and ongoing urban decay. It's amazing how droves of people, all sharing the collective anticipation of a "happening," make all of those problems bleed into the background. At least for a day.
I guess I finally understood why so many were so excited for the NCAA's March Madness to storm HSBC Arena; so enamored that amateur hockey's World Junior Championships will be here in 2011.
Even if it was only for a few fleeting hours, I felt giddy for all the bars and other downtown businesses that got a nice shot of cash in the arm, courtesy of young Mr. Strasburg. It was nice to see Coca Cola Field 85 percent full on a weekday afternoon, great to see people young and old perhaps discovering downtown. I can't speak for all of them, but I sure had fun, and was reassured to know that downtown was the place to be on a brilliant, sunny afternoon, tailor-made for baseball.
I came for the Strasburg hype. I stayed for the downtown experience. Last Thursday, there's a solid chance that I saw the future of Major League baseball. Here's hoping the crowds and accmpanying synergy I witnessed at the foot of Washington and Swan is the future of our old friend, Buffalo.
